What God would make Man of self?
Whose tireless toils would he shelf
Taking self from up on high,
Remove the Sun from fervent sky
Then set his face from rising day…
To whom would such a Man-God pray?
See yet, how empty, ringing hollow,
Is the smile of young Apollo
Who’s traced his path over the earth
To break his fast, each day since birth
As the glowing arch of Sun
His geis since he begun
Such a weight would buckle Atlas,
And as day creeps into the blackness
Slow down his cheeks the tracking’s crept-
This, along with the companion piece (Artemis also loved), is intended to have the “title” line follow the ending. Weird, I know. But it’s how it works with some of my pieces.